


Cast Some Light

by beanside, nilchance



Series: Places [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 03:12:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4374974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beanside/pseuds/beanside, https://archiveofourown.org/users/nilchance/pseuds/nilchance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Continuation of the Places Verse</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cast Some Light

Sam wasn't sure what had happened. One minute, Dean was talking with a girl. The next, she was gone, and Dean's eyes were rolling back in his head. His body went slack, crumpling to the floor with a sickening sound that Sam heard above the music, above everything.

He didn't remember moving. He was just there, standing over Dean, his hands empty and his heart in his throat.

Dean was laying behind the pool table, eyes open, staring sightless at the ceiling.

"No, no, no. Fuck! Dean!" Sam dropped next to him, feeling for the pulse he knew wasn't there.

This isn't happening, Sam thought wildly, bending to press his lips against Dean's, breathing air into his lungs. He started chest compressions, trying desperately to remember the right numbers. "Goddamn it, you can't do this to me."

Dean was silent, unresponsive. Sam could feel people gathering around them, gawking. Fucking useless.

"Anyone know CPR?" Sam demanded between breaths. "I need-"

A blonde girl knelt next to Dean. "I'll breathe," she said firmly. "You compress."

Sam nodded, continuing to press his hands into Dean's chest. It was brute force, Dean's ribs bending under Sam's hands. "C'mon," Sam murmured. The words jerked up his throat, raw and bleeding. "C'mon, you son of a bitch, not after this. Not now. Dean, don't you do this, not to me, c'mon, c'mon."

"We're about twenty miles from the ambulance," she warned. "Don't overdo it. You might need to keep going for awhile."

It seemed like an eternity, but finally the woman held up a hand. "Hold on, let me check him."

Sam nodded, shaking his arms out. He could feel the muscles shaking.

"No pulse," the woman said after a moment, "keep going."

Was there pity in her voice?

Sam went back to compressions, staring at Dean's lifeless eyes. Sweat ran down his forehead and into his eyes, stinging, blurring his vision. "I can't do this alone," Sam bit off, "you know that, you know, you can't do this. I won't let you do this."

As he leaned forward to press his hands to Dean's chest again, Sam saw his eyes flutter closed.

"Oh god. Check him," Sam barked. "I think he's-"

The rest of the sentence proved unnecessary. As the woman reached for his throat, Dean's eyes focused on her. A hoarse, pained noise slipped from Dean's mouth as he jerked back sharply. "Nonononono..."

"Dean!" Sam bent, grabbing his brother's jacket, and hauling him close. Dean could rip him a new one for it later, for nearly holding Dean on his lap in a bar full of strangers. Sam could feel Dean shaking, his ragged breathing, the wild look in Dean's eyes. Grabbing Dean's face, Sam made Dean meet his eyes. For a terrifying moment, Dean stared past him, through him. "Dean, it's me."

Dean blinked, slowly coming down, and leaned heavily into Sam. "Sammy?" he wheezed.

"Hey," Sam breathed, a stupid smile creeping up on him. "Hey, you scared the crap out of me. You okay?"

Something shuttered behind Dean's eyes, a wall slamming up between them. Dean put a hand on Sam's chest and pushed himself back. "It's okay, I'm fine. What happened?"

"You stopped breathing. No pulse." Palming Dean's cheek, Sam held Dean still and felt him stiffen. "I thought I'd lost you."

"I'm fine," Dean repeated, voice stronger. "It's okay. Let's get out of here."

"Hell no. You weren't breathing. The paramedics are coming, and they're going to check you out."

"No, they're not. I'm fine, Sammy. Seriously. Besides," Dean leaned closer, dropping his voice, "they might send cops."

Shit. Much as he hated to admit it, Dean had a point. "Fine. But I'm taking you to the hospital," Sam said, for the crowd's benefit.

Dean didn't meet his eyes, attention flicking from one place to another. "Help me up, you ass."

Sam helped Dean to his feet, watching the way he pulled back from the crowd, pressing a little closer to Sam than normal. Not that Sam minded; it settled his nerves to have one hand on Dean, like that alone would keep him breathing. Gripping Dean's elbow to keep him close, Sam turned to the girl who had helped him. "Thank you," he murmured.

She smiled. "I'm glad it helped. Make sure he gets checked out."

"I will."

Sam looped his arm around Dean, guiding him out the door and around the side of the bar where the Impala was parked. As soon as the door closed behind them, Sam turned and held Dean at arms-length. "What was that? What happened?"

"Now there's a question I'd love to have answered," a familiar whiskey-edged voice purred. "What the hell did you do, son?"

Sam whirled, shoving Dean behind him. His next breath came out in a gut-punched rush.

After a long hunt, their dad would slump back into their temporary home, looking soul-weary and older but grimly alive. That was how he looked now, sitting on the hood of the Impala like the last two years hadn't happened. He even had on the clothes he had died in, the clothes that they had burned him in, with Dean's blood smeared down the front of his shirt.

"Christo," Sam said sharply.

John Winchester quirked an eyebrow, then gave a tired nod. "Deus is better, but yeah, that'll work."

It had been a long night; that was Sam's only excuse for his head swimming dizzily. He locked his knees and reached back for Dean, this time to keep his balance. It took two swallows, but he got out, "Dad?"

Despite everything, John's smile was real. "Hey, kiddo."

"What the hell?" Sam blurted. "Wait. Exorciso te-" His mind swam, and he fumbled for the words. "Exorciso te-"

"Let me save you some trouble, Sammy." John walked around the Impala, and opened the passenger side door, ducking in. "Unless Dean has--nope. There it is." He came out with a little plastic bottle marked with a tiny cross. He eyed it for a moment before tilting the bottle back, swallowing a healthy gulp. "Oh, Christ that's nasty."

"S'the mineral spring water," Sam said slowly. "Not supposed to drink it."

Behind him, Dean's snicker had a faint, hysterical edge to it.

"I'll take that under advisement, son," John said gravely, his lips twitching in a smile. "Now, anything else you need me to do?"

"Sit. Roll over," Dean intoned. "I'd say play dead, but you've got that down pat."

Still smiling, John gave Dean the Look, the one that hadn't changed since Sam was ten and Dean had let him get away with something while Dad was gone. It was the look that promised a later ass-kicking, but for now John would let it ride. Sam had always hated that damn look, but he'd never been so glad to see it.

"Missed you too, dude," John said finally, and tossed the holy water into the seat again. "Don't suppose you'd buy your old man dinner--"

Whatever else he'd been planning to say was lost in a grunt as Sam pulled him into a hug. It violated every rule of Winchester conduct, but fuck that, fuck everything. His father's jacket didn't even smell like smoke when Sam pressed his face against it.

Sam heard the driver's side door squeal as Dean climbed in. "I'm driving," he said.

It perfectly overlapped his father's, "I'll drive."

"Jesus," Dean muttered. But a moment later, the back door slammed.

Sam took a step back, palming his wet eyes. "He did something stupid, didn't he."

"Later, Sammy," John said. Sam knew now that John reaching out to gently rumple his hair was a way of softening the blow.

"Dad-" Sam growled.

John smiled, and Sam debated choking him. At least until John murmured fondly, "I even missed this."

"Shit." Dragging a hand through his hair, Sam said, "God, I'm sorry-"

His father held up a hand. "Don't. It's just what we do."

"Yeah, but--I love you, and you died, and I was afraid you thought I hated you because the last thing I-"

"Sammy." John sounded like he was caught between being amused and horrified. He snagged Sam's shoulders and shook him a little. "Don't- it's all right, son. I know. I love you, too."

"Okay." Sam exhaled, and it shook on the edges. "You're an ass."

"I am. You're right."

"And you had no right to put that on Dean--" Sam blinked. "I'm right?"

"I guess 'it seemed like a good idea at the time' isn't a great defense, huh?" With a weak smile, John shoved his hands in his pockets. "I didn't have time, and there were limits on what I could say or do. Otherwise, I wouldn't have sent you out. I just-- I screwed up. But I knew you boys could work it out."

"You don't think I'm evil? But he--he made me--Dad, in the nursery. I swallowed its blood."

John snorted. "Yeah. I know. But c'mon son. A few drops of piddly demon blood against all that Winchester blood? It didn't stand a chance. You're not evil, Sammy. Never will be."

Sam sighed, breathing for what felt like the first time in years. "Oh. Okay."

"So, anywhere around here have decent country fried steak?" John asked. "God, I've been craving that forever."

Sam laughed. "Well, no doubting that you and Dean are related, that's for sure." 

John smiled. "Says the kid that didn't realize that steak came without being deep fried until he was ten." He ran a hand over Sam's shoulders lightly. "You okay? You're shaking."

"Been a long night," Sam said, rubbing his eyes.

"How about you let the dead guy drive?"

Sam nodded, turning towards the passenger side. "And y'know, that almost doesn't sound bizarre." He leaned his head back against the passenger seat and breathed the scents of family. Dean and Dad, and the Impala. Home, no matter how hard he'd tried to deny it-

Dean kicked the back of his seat.

Meeting Dean's eyes in the rearview, Sam reached an arm back to palm Dean's face, and got his fingers sloppily licked for the trouble. His laugh had the edge of hysteria, but neither of them minded.

"Boys," John said mildly, sliding into the driver's seat. To Sam's satisfaction, he had to readjust the seat to reach the pedals, grumbling all the way about diner food and too much time under the power lines.

Still smiling, Sam closed his eyes and drank in this strange, deep happiness. It was okay. They were going to be okay.


End file.
